Placebo
by miikka-xx
Summary: After the Winter War, Rangiku takes a much needed vacation in the real world and meets Gin, the human. ginran. complete.


**miikka-xx: **so, in order to get rid of this ridiculous writer's block, i've decided to churn out meaningless angst. and what better pairing than ginran? actually, i was looking at pretty pictures of them and felt inspired. for about five seconds. i'm sorry if this sucks. done in two nights, staying up till three in the morning. yeah, it's not quality work, but i feel attached to it, somehow.

**Title:** Placebo  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary: **After the Winter War, Rangiku takes a much needed vacation in the real world and meets Gin, the human. ginran. complete.  
**Disclaimer: **if i owned Bleach, Ichigo would finally grow some emotions and CONFESS to Rukia, goddamn. It's ridiculous. At least hug or something!  
**Warning(s): **Kissing, touching. er, the f-bomb is dropped about seven times. i've bet you've heard worse. angst.  
**Additional Note:** i highly suggest you read this while listening to **Mariage (La Faute a Fidel!)** by **Armand Amar**. it inspired one particular scene that i quite like.  
**Link:** http : / / www .musicme .com /# /Armand-Amar /albums /Moving- Music- 3298490016268 .html  
_simply scroll down on the list and pick" _la faute a fidel: mariage". _It should be the fourth one._

* * *

_placebo_

* * *

Soul Society is not the pretty white washed stone walls anymore, with thatched orange roofs and sliding doors. It is a medley of crumbling stone, the scent of something burning and the sound of clashing metal. There are screams and yells and growls. She hears somebody cutting through a body, flesh giving away easily under the sharp metal blade.

The air is choked with blood and death and reiatsu. Rangiku feels her own sword turn into sand, slicing an Arrancar, before moving on to the next enemy. Behind her, she feels the killing aura multiply, the energy squeezing the breath out of her lungs, and turns around. It's the white being she had just split open, now awakening with a terrible grin. It flails its sword before transforming into something else entirely. Looking like a spider, it throws shivers down her spine.

So she kills it.

* * *

War is easy to end. Sneak in the enemy stronghold, kill the leader, return back alive and skewer the rest of the forces while they try and figure out what the hell happened. Aizen lays in a pool of blood and Ichigo is dying beside him, breathing faintly as Rukia screams and _screams_.

* * *

Peace is hard to maintain. Everything is wartorn. There is simply the scavenging of food and beds and bandages. Everyone goes through Unohana-taicho's careful check-up at least once. They bring everything they can for their comrades dying on sterile white beds as Healers flit around them. Some escape to the real world to get away. Too many of their comrades are gone. It hurts, it's tearing their insides. It's making their intestines unwind and it's forcing everything up the throat until the lungs can no longer breathe and the heart feels like it's being ripped apart.

They find no rope to hang from the ceiling and turn towards their swords to rip through their bellies. It hurts but not compared to this.

* * *

Rangiku loses her sense of time. Everyday blurs into each other until she finally wakes up one day with a gasp and realizes that everything is back to normal again.

Reconstruction is swift; the barracks are rebuilt, each building newly furnished and walls crushed only to be built up again by careful hands. Gotei 13 has paperwork coming by the truckload: weapons to be transported, construction permits to be signed, missions to be given out (_to those that are left, that is)_.

Her taicho summons her to his office in the early morning. She is tired and her body is sore and she can't think over what is being said. He is swift and meticulous (_and weary and tired and sad and heartbroken and... you could go on, you think_) in his orders.

"Matsumoto, you are hereby dismissed from all your duties for a month and assigned to spend 30 days in the real world," Hitsugaya tells her curtly, waving his hand to tell her she's dismissed. Rangiku blinks sleepily.

"Huh?"

Hitsugaya sighs, "it's a _vacation_, Matsumoto. Go away."

She nods, something that looks more like she's falling asleep on her feet, and stumbles out and back into her cooling bed. Vaguely, she wonders why she can't feel her hangovers anymore. (_maybe 'cause you've been drinkin' everyday since then, Ran-chan,_ his voice whispers but she's too far in slumber to notice.)

* * *

They kick her out at dusk with a fat suitcase that looks like it's going to burst open at any moment. They stuff an address in her hand but she already knows it's for a gigai from Urahara's eccentric little shop. Finally, the doors slide open and the light on the other side is blinding. It doesn't hurt and that makes it worse because she wants to feel the pain, she wants to feel like shit because everyone's feeling it except her and she doesn't know what it's like.

_Betrayal hurts_, her mind tells her,_ heartbreak hurts, loss hurts_. Then it turns mocking - _but you've never trusted anybody enough to give them your heart, your love, huh? Except one _- Rangiku stops her musings and steps through the portal. She doesn't know where she'll end up but she wants to know what it's like. She wants to _feel_.

* * *

Urahara is reluctant to part with his gigai without payment so she hands him a bottle of sake. She wonders what fucking with him would be like. She wonders if he's silent and attentive and still has the body from extensive training back in Soul Society. She wonders if he would bite her neck and lay hickeys over her throat and mouth words against her skin.

Rangiku grabs the gigai and enters it. Urahara waves a goodbye drunkenly, slurping from the bottle. She wonders if he would even fuck her in the first place and leaves before her thoughts can get any farther.

* * *

She books a hotel room with a forged credit card from Soul Society. _No limit,_ they had told her with smiles,_ please, _go. It's the generic beige walls with deceptively comfortable pillows and mattress. The shampoo smells like peaches and the shower is low-flow. The water barely brushes her back before falling down into the drain and it bugs her because she can't fucking _feel_ it! Her heart has been numbed through war (_and this is relief to you, you think, because now he can't get in, not anymore_). Yet it's unfair that her body can't experience anything either.

Rangiku punches the shower wall, cracking tiles, before leaving the bathroom. It hurts; the pain ripples through her knuckles, up her arms and lingers past her elbow before disappearing. She loves it.

* * *

The first thing she does is sleep. She lays on the too comfortable bed and drifts away for hours and hours until it's close to sunset and the room service knocks insistently on her door. She greets the weary woman and hangs the Do Not Dusturb sign on her knob with an apologetic smile.

She tries not to remember the insistent whispers her dreams torment her with. A drink, she thinks, will solve all her problems. Rangiku walks the ever-darkening streets until a posh restaurant comes into view. Maybe it was the colours - a dark red - bordering on maroon - coupled with a sensual purple - that had persuaded her into going in.

The maitre d' greets her with a smile and takes her to a corner table by the window. She watches the people walk by and orders their most expensive wine. The glass is cold under her touch and she relishes the feeling, the tingling of her fingertips, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Hey there, pre'y lady," greets a voice. It's smooth, seductive and scares her. Her eyes flicker from her wine glass (still half-full and swirling under the fluorescent lights looking like blood) to the person. He's wearing a waiter apron, pens and pads sticking out haphazardly from the various pockets. One has mints poking out and another filled with toothpicks.

He's smiling, (_always smiling, alwaysalwaysalways_) and his silver hair brushes past his eyebrows, eyes slitted in pleasure.

"Hi," she croaks out because he's here and she can _feel_ him; can almost taste the unnerving aura that constantly surrounds him, can almost touch the heat emanating from his bare arms.

"May I be takin' your order?" he asks kindly, pulling out a small pad and pen.

"O-oh, yeah, uh," Rangiku stutters because she can't stop staring at him, "I'll have another bottle, thanks." She can't stop looking at his uniform and think that he shouldn't be a damn waiter of all things. He should be some sort of interrogator, some sort of spy, some sort of secret hidden away from everyone, some sort of _something more fucking important than a waiter_.

He nods, scribbles it down and leaves, the smile never leaving his lips.

Rangiku downs her glass of wine and relishes the bitter aftertaste it leaves in her mouth.

* * *

Twenty years had passed in a blink of an eye after the Winter War. Rangiku barely remembered anything from those two decades. She knew Ichigo and his band of merry death-bringers had killed Aizen and Tousen and Gin and all the other big guys they hung out with. She hates that she couldn't have been there when Gin had died. Maybe she would've helped kill him, maybe she would've watched. She doesn't really know.

What she does remember though is defending Soul Society and killing white skeletons calling themselves Arranacars. Blood spatters, smell of anesthetic, the high off of morphine while she was still in the hospital. The rustle of papers, hammering, feel of wood and a splinter in her index finger.

It was no wonder she could spend a few hours idly contemplating the wood stub stuck underneath her skin and the many parallels between her life and mortals. It was ridiculous, how 'heaven' is so akin to the suffering down below. She guessed not needing to scavenge food and water was a bonus unless you had reiatsu. She winced. It was not a memory she wanted to relive.

"Ya still here, pre'y lady?" he asks, taking off his uniform apron and hanging it on a hook on the wall accross from her. It's closing time for the place. She snaps to attention, noticing that she's the only one left, with the still unopened bottle of wine and empty glass.

"Ah... yeah..." she murmurs, grabbing her jacket and the bottle, "sorry 'bout that." Gin laughs and pulls his jacket out, slipping into it.

"Wanna leave with me?" he asks. She hesitates but the cool glass on her fingers makes her nerves ease. Gin, the human mortal, huh?

"Sure," she agrees and he holds the door open for her. She walks forward into the cool night air and turns around, heart beating fast in anticipation. She almost sighs in relief. He's right behind her.

Rangiku takes his hand and leads him somewhere.

"Don't leave, 'kay?" she whispers.

(_but he's a mortal, unaware of what had happened in his past life and smiles indulgently at you. Of course, pre'y lady, is all you hear and suddenly, your world is narrowed down to a man with silver hair and a serpent's smile_)

* * *

This is a dream, she thinks, forever swirling in the air. Her breath leaves her in plumes, his spider-fingers are entangled in hers. She's never going to let go, she promises herself. The blinking, shining, neon signs wrap them in a hazy blanket of cool night air and promises of secret encounters. They dance past love motels and run through alleyways. The scent of rot and sweat and something burning clings to her. Nostalgia comes with the scents, screaming Rukongai in her head.

"Where we goin', pre'y lady?" he laughs, spinning with her. She doesn't know. God, she doesn't know! But she can feel. She can feel his warmth, she can feel his hand, she can feel his jacket brushing against her. She can feel her heart beating relentlessly against her ribcage, she can feel her hair falling against her face in ripples, she can feel her eyes water and her lips pull upwards.

"I don't know, I don't know!" she laughs and dances and pulls him towards her, "Matsumoto Rangiku." Her eyes stare attentively at him, trying to gauge his reaction. Don't remember, she begs, don't, please, _pleasepleaseplease forget me_.

"A pre'y name for a pre'y lady," he smiles, "Ichimaru Gin." She beams right back at him.

"I know," she whispers. He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise but she's gone, disappearing into the dark.

* * *

They end up at the canal, lights glinting off the water and stars reflecting against the gentle, rolling waves. Sliding down the grass and rock, she crouches against the edge, skipping stones idly.

"Take me somewhere," she says quietly to the night air, wine bottle still firmly clutched in her hand. Gin crouches beside her.

"I'll go anywhere," he answers, smiling. She leans against him and looks at the bottle.

"Take me here," she tells him. He peers through the dark at the label pasted on the glass.

"To Italy?" Rangiku shakes her head and laughs bitterly.

"Wine leads me to dreams, you know," she confesses softly. Gin watches her reflection, trying to figure her out. What kind of woman was she? What made her tick? Her quirks, her past, her present, her future, everything? He wanted to know everything about this woman who came wandering in one late night to drown her sorrows in expensive alcohol.

"Let me go there," he says and pops the cork out of the bottle, taking a gulp, "let's go!" His whisper is barely heard in the night but she understands him. Grabbing the wine, she takes a swig.

"There's a place... and there's a man..." she giggles, falling on her back, "and flowers, so many flowers... he's telling me about white flowers and the numbers... and he has a serpent's smile."

* * *

She passes out on the grass, feet dangling in the cool water when the bottle rolls out of her hand. Gin watches her sleep, the blush on her face, the way her heavy bust moved up and down, the drawn expression that clung on to her insistently. It is a heavy shadow that won't leave. Anguish, pain, something indescribable, screwing with her insides.

Gin wants to know. He picks her up and takes her to his flat. He peels each layer of clothing of her body, leaving her clad in nothing but her underwear. She's flawless, hairless, every part of her perfect. It hurts to look at her bare form. Fingers trace patterns on her pretty skin. He wants scars and signs, he wants evidence of pain, he wants proof that she hurts.

He hates her body and dresses her back up. Leaving her on his bed, he passes out on the couch, a frown on his lips.

* * *

Rangiku wakes to an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar smell and an unfamiliar feeling. She stops, closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. (_it smells like silk voices and seductive whispers, it smells of attentive lovers and ruthless betrayers_). She opens her eyes and makes her way out of the room. The too neat room, with the too perfect set-up of bed and dresser and desk and laptop sitting unobtrusively on the wood.

She walks down the hall into the living room with a man sleeping on it. She freezes. Gin never slept. He would leave in the night, escaping the warm body heat into the cold night, never returning for days on end. Rangiku approaches the man cautiously and silently. She touches his hand hanging off the side of the couch. He doesn't stir.

Courageously, she places her fingertips against his cheek, brushing up past his eyebrows and tangling into his bangs. A groan, a twitch and his eyes flutter open. Something clicks in his brain as he hovers between dreams and reality.

"Ran-chan."

Rangiku steps back, slamming her leg against the coffee table and muffles her scream of pain against her knuckles.

"Ah, Matsumoto-san!" He's full awake now and struggles to get up, pulling her towards him and away from the table. She stumbles and falls into him, letting his arms embrace her_. This is the part where you confess your love,_ her mind mocks, _kiss him and fuck him and tell him._

Gin hits the couch with a thud, letting her awkwardly tangle against him as he sinks into it. Her mouth is pressed against his collarbone, breath heating his skin. He feels her. Every inch of her. Every disgustingly perfect inch.

"Call me that again."

"Matsumo-?"

"_Please_."

He presses his mouth to the top of her hair and mouths it out.

_"Ran-chan."_

* * *

They spend days with each other. He goes to work and she walks around the city. Once he gets off, they would meet at a park somewhere and dance the night away with drinks or stories or dreams. He stays with her because she is interesting. The pain that appears on her face is exquisite when he's with her. It changes shape and glitters when she turns her face. When the sun catches her hair just right, there's something heartbreaking about her.

This town is no longer unfamiliar. They pass by houses that only she knows. She tells him about the names, the faces that used to be here. (_Boys with orange hair, girls that cry while smiling, men that fight to protect and innocents who don't know any better_) Gin is tangled up in her web and he can't escape. Lies come easily on her lips when she speaks to others than himself, he notices, half-truths and stories spun catching him, trapping him.

"Let's go," she tells him and she grabs his hand. Gin smiles indulgently; she never let go of him, always touched some part of him. They haven't kissed yet. Haven't tumbled onto the sheets in sweat and heat. They haven't even properly embraced, yet she clings to him.

He's twenty years old, with a woman wrapped in lies, and he cannot escape. They stumble into a flower shop, ten minutes before closing. She peers into each bouquet and flower pot with an intensity he hasn't seen. She's determined to find whatever she's looking for. Gin amuses himself by fingering the flower petals. One catches his eye.

"Ran-chan," he says, "go outside. Imma get ya somethin'." Rangiku blinks and leaves the store, standing with her back against the glass display windows so she can't watch him. Gin is quick and he's out of the store almost immediately.

"Here ya go," he grins, placing the bouquet into her unsuspecting arms. She looks down and gasps.

Flowers. Her flowers. White flowers. The one with countless petals that she could pluck forever. There's three of them in the bouquet, mixed with other types that she can't name. She only recognizes her white flowers. The name whispered to her in her ear one day. (_did ya know, in the Gotei 13, squad 3's flower is named this?_)

"What are they called?" she asks, looking up into his face. Gin knows she's lying. He knows she recognizes them.

He leans over her, lips close to her ear, whispering, "chrysanthemums." Rangiku doesn't know any better. She knows nothing about Gin, the human. She only knows that he shouldn't remember anything about his past life. That shinigami killed are reincarnated into the real world with no memories, only to die again. Sometimes even to become shinigami once more. She wonders if, in a hundred years, she'll see him again, his face in the Academy.

"Why?" she says, staring at him. Gin doesn't know. He never knows. Her name is easy on his tongue, her habits simple to pick up, her face an open book for him to read. He merely leans down and kisses her. The bouquet ends up crushed between them as she kisses him back. Close-mouthed but desperate; he can feel everything she's feeling.

They part, not for breath but to just watch.

"Ran-chan," he murmurs, placing his lips on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her crown. Soft, fleeting kisses that leave tingles on her skin.

"Gin," she whispers back and holds on to him like he's the only anchor she has before floating away, "can I tell you a secret?"

Gin hovers over her lips, "of course."

She kisses him urgently, teeth biting and clacking and tongue swiping to taste him. Her nails dig into his chest as she presses up more against him, trying to make him understand.

"I know you, I know everything about you," she tries to say between breaths, "but I don't know anything. I don't know anything about _you_."

* * *

They stumble back into his flat, clothes half-gone by the time they fall onto his bed. It's been a week and a half, and he's been waiting for something to happen. She cries when they fuck, tears streaming down her face as she clutches onto him. He's an attentive lover, but he hates her body. Hates that it's so damned perfect. He wants to leave scratches and bruises on her skin.

It's not close to making love. It's too needy, urgent, fast, rough, painful to be anything close to love. It's sex, pure and simple, something Rangiku wanted to feel from him. The feel of his spider-fingers is so familiar, the way his hair falls over her skin, the way his lips feel, soft and slightly chapped. She can still feel the wood from their shack digging into her back as he fucked her back in Rukongai.

They fall asleep quick and Rangiku remembers to thank Urahara for giving her such a life-like gigai. She can still feel his warmth, still feel the indescribable heat in her core fading away as sleep claimed her. They don't touch but she tangles her fingers into his. (_I'll come back, Ran-chan, I always do. But one day, I'm gonna leave, and you'll follow won't ya? (a laugh) No way, Ran-chan, telling you when'll spoil the fun!_)

* * *

When she wakes up, he's no longer there. The bed is cold and this feeling is so familiar she almost relaxes in it. Gin left, she thinks vaguely. Then a gasp follows. The mortal world, Gin as a human, this wasn't Rukongai, stupid girl, this was hundreds of years later with someone who should be gone.

Rangiku shakes the feeling of nostalgia that threatens to overwhelm her. It's persistent, has been following her around for as long as she's been here. She stumbles out of the room, sticking her head in the kitchen.

The sight makes the feeling leave as abruptly as it came. Gin sitting with an empty cup beside him on the table and a book held in his hands.

"You didn't leave," she remarks idly, peering into the cup. He looks up and smiles widely.

'Why would I?" he asks. She shrugs and picks the cup up, swirling the few gulps still left. A sip. She shudders. Oh yeah, he likes it black.

"You got tired of me?" she jokes, smiling as the coffee maker whirs back on.

"Not you, Ran-chan," he tells her, "ya body. I hate it." The sentence makes her freeze, her back still turned against him.

(_Ya beau'iful, Ran-chan... (a shake of the head) No way, the scars are the ones that make ya so beau'iful_)

"I hate it too," she finally answers. Gin gets up, placing his book on the table. He approaches her from behind and wraps his arms around her waist, letting her back lean against his chest. His fingers pull her shirt up, letting it bunch right underneath her breasts.

"It's so perfect," he whispers, "so fucking perfect." Her hands find his splayed fingers across her belly. She curls them around his and forces his nails to dig deep into the skin. Gin jerks in surprise, making his nails leave scratches on her stomach.

"Ran-chan!" he says, "what're ya doin'!"

"I have scars. I have so many scratches and gashes and wounds..." she tells him, "but you can't see them... I want you to see them." Gin spins her around and falls to his knees.

His lips press against the marks that bleed a little, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He repeats it for every kiss, every scratch.

"I want to feel beautiful around you," she confesses, tangling her fingers into his white hair. He presses his face against her skin.

"You are, gods, you're fucking beautiful."

* * *

They decided to take a road trip to somewhere, to nowhere, to anywhere. Where the asphalt stretches for miles and wind is your only companion. Gin quits his job and she's glad. He shouldn't be a waiter, she thinks, he's something so much _more_. They grab two duffel bags, throw in clothes, toothbrush and a whole lot of money. He has a motorcycle and it makes Rangiku laugh. The only thing that felt right about him.

They race down the alleyways, cutting through traffic and escape the town. Miles and miles are ahead of them and she's laughing, god, she's laughing, when her hair whips back and he revs the engine, the guttural sound like a roar through the country.

Hours pass by in silence, ebb and flow like waves until a tide crashes down. They screw up, take a wrong turn and end up at the ocean at midnight. She jumps off the motorcycle and falls into the sand. Feelings, emotions, tingles, a rush, a high. Rangiku can sense it all. It leaves her breathless, makes tears fall silently down her cheeks.

"This is happiness," she yells out into the night, spinning, dancing, "this is life and love and death and everything. Gin!" He comes down into the sand, barefoot and laughs. She wraps her arms around him, crying and laughing and _feeling_.

"Gin, Gin," she looks up at him, "Gin, I love you."

Gin places his forehead against hers and opens his eyes. They were so beautiful. Like blood and rose petals and her heart hammering in her chest.

"I love you," he mouths against her lips when he leans down. They don't fuck on the beach. They make love in the sand. It is slow and sensual and when they finally find release, she can feel everything. This is the meaning of life, this is what true happiness feels like, this is forever and always and it's been here since the beginning of time and she only feels it now because Gin is here.

(_ne, when's ya bir'day, Ran-chan? (a frown) well, what's ya firs' memory then so we can jus' have ta put it on that day!_)

Her first memory is dirt and heat and a boy standing above her with a persimmon, asking if she wanted some. He had a funny name and weird smile. His hair was the whitest thing she had ever seen and she never wanted to see it dirty. It was pure, she had told herself. And when she ate that persimmon, the juice had coloured her hands red and pink and made them sticky. Years later, she felt the same feeling when she killed a man.

Her world starts with Gin, ends with Gin and is reborn with Gin.

* * *

They keep going. The asphalt leading them to somewhere they don't know. They take more wrong turns, and screw up and lose money on gas more than food and end up at a town the day before a festival. She grabs her forged credit card and drags Gin to shops to prepare. They book a hotel room and spend the rest of the day looking for proper clothes.

He steals the card away from her and escapes, telling her he'll pick it out, so just look for one for him and he'll find her. He always knew where she was. She gets lost in clothes shops but ends up staring at a blue kimono, with white flowers that had endless petals embroidered on it.

(_Ne, Ran-chan, your name, it's Rangiku, righ'? (a delighted laugh) I know what it means! Here's a hint, it's part of the Gotei 13!_)

Rangiku meant chrysanthemums. She smiles sadly. Chrysanthemums also meant happiness and long life. At least she gotten that in a roundabout way. She lingers by the kimono until Gin returns with a box. He gives it to her and eyes the one she picked out critically.

"Please?" she asks with a bright smile and glittering eyes. Gin takes it and buys it. They return to their room and she tries hers on.

It is white and lavender with navy blue butterflies and white flowers. She thinks of chrysanthemums and Hell Butterflies and dances in it, loving every inch of silk on her skin.

"I love it," she giggles and they escape into the festivities: of rainbows and colours and streamers and laughter and incense and fireworks and the sheer life from everyone around them.

* * *

Days melt into weeks and weeks blur together until she wakes up, halfway across Japan, and looks at the calendar hanging on the hotel wall, realizing that in two days, she will return to Soul Society. She briefly entertains the idea of being a shinigami on the run, like Rukia was with Ichigo until her brother had shown up. The idea is crushed under her rationale. She loved Soul Society, loved everyone there from her taicho to everyone in each battalion. Shuuhei and Kira and Nanao and all the other wonderful friends she treasured.

Yet Gin.

He lies on his side, mouth parted slightly and a deep breaths making him shift the blanket on him. She touches his his face, letting her fingers tangle in the locks, the pure pretty locks she adored. He wakes up, smiling drowsily.

"Ran-chan," he greets softly.

"Gin," she smiles back. She leans down and kisses him. It is soft and chaste, a gentle affair that exuded love.

"When I leave, I always come back, ne, Gin?" she says. "But one day, I'm not gonna come back. So, you better follow me, alright?" Gin watches her intently, despite the early morning.

"And when is that, Ran-chan?" he asks. Laughing, she jumps out of bed and beams at him, placing a finger to her lips.

"That'll spoil the surprise!"

* * *

The first day is spent in the new town they end up in. They explore every inch and try all the different alcohol Rangiku can take. She sips each of them and buys them all. She's plastered by the time the fifth bottle disappears. There are still three left and Gin grabs them as he helps her back into their room.

He is caught and tangled in her web of secrets and lies and so many emotions, it's hard to keep track of them all. But he doesn't want to escape. He wants to keep spinning and cutting himself on those strings, wants to scar his body with each moment he has with her. Every little thing should be ingrained in his mind, pressed against his heart. He doesn't know if this is love, if this is the emotion that rips through his body every time she looks at him, every time she touches him, kisses him, makes love with him.

He doesn't care what this feeling is. He's too tangled, too caught up with the world's Matsumoto Rangiku, his Ran-chan and gods-knew-who's-what-else. She mumbles 'taicho' under her breath and whines about paperwork and he smiles, if not a bit jealously that it's not him she whispers to her drunk illusions.

Then she mumbles words, not coherent sentences, but enough to make him stop breathing and turn his hear to her mouth.

"Gin... Gin... killed a man today... felt like persimmons... sticky..." she lets a tear fall, "when will you be gone... Gin? I'll follow you forever... ever and ever and ever... I love you, Gin... do you... do you love me...?"

She spends the night crying through her memories with Gin, the human, listening by her side.

(_Of course I love ya, Ran-chan. (a gentle smile) your my everythin'. You keep me warm, you make me laugh, you never leave me. why wouldn't I love ya? (eyebrows rise) you not useless, Ran-chan. Ya clean, don't cha? And cook and find food for us. And ya beau'iful. I'll always love your scars. People say scars make a person. Yours make ya beau'iful. And you know what, Ran-chan? (leans in, wraps his arms around you, presses his lips against yours) Your scars also make ya mine. If I leave, remember, ya gotta follow. Ne, Ran-chan?_)

"I'll follow, Gin... till the end..."

* * *

The day to leave comes with a massive hangover and Gin holding her hair as she throws up in the toilet. He's extra quiet, not knowing what to do with the answers to her secrets whispered in his ear last night. The knowledge is not frightening, yet nostalgic. In a way he can't remember. He watches her wipe her mouth with a hotel towel and flush the toilet, eyes closed.

"What did I say last night?" she asks him. He doesn't know how to answer. So he plaits her hair in silence.

"Gin, what did I say?" she asks again, a pleading yet angry tone creeping into her voice.

"Lotsa things, Ran-chan," he finally answers, braiding the beautiful locks carefully.

"What did you hear?" Gin shifts uncomfortably from behind but crushes the unfamiliar feeling down. He puts back his smile and continues to smooth through her hair.

"Ya killed someone. Felt like persimmons, is what ya said," he begins.

The morning passes by with Gin, the human, retelling her each treasured memory from her childhood.

* * *

Lunch rolls around and Rangiku is in much better shape to be dealing with other people. They dine at a small cafe that still served breakfast at noon. Devouring quickly through her food, she drinks multiple glasses of water to dilute the alcohol still in her system. Another note should be sent to Urahara telling him that his gigais should have better alcohol tolerance, thinks Rangiku.

She drags him back to the hotel room after a few hours of driving on endless pavement, exploring the farms surrounding them and the cliff that overlooked the sea. They spend sunset at the cliff, hearing the waves roar and crash down against the jagged rock. And the night passes as usual with a kiss, a touch and a tumble into the bedsheets.

They make love for the last time and she savours every part of him. From his spider-fingers to his white-silver hair and the entrancing red orbs he shows during these times. She feels his mouth press insistently against her stomach, against the still healing marks from before, murmuring apologies through his lips.

She treasures each mark on his body, kissing every part of him that she can. This is love, she thinks in the back of her mind. Love is sex so pure and exquisite that it leaves her breathless all through the night. She is awake still when it's over. She feels him even out his breathing when succumbing to sleep.

She leaves at the crack of dawn.

* * *

When Gin wakes up, he is not surprised that she isn't there anymore. There is no note, her duffel bag is still present. Nothing is missing, even the mysterious credit card she has is sitting unobtrusively on the desk. Her toothbrush is untouched in the bathroom and her shoes sit quietly in the closet.

But he knows she's gone. She's finally left him. Something in the back of his mind shifts, clicks into place.

(_Gin! What I want for my birthday is that you tell me when you're gonna leave! At least say goodbye or apologize or something!_)

Her voice lingers in his mind but escapes his attempt to recognize it. Finally he gets up and looks at her pillow. There's a slip of paper underneath. He slides it out and reads the simple word on it.

_Sorry._

* * *

She returns to Soul Society through a gate she created behind the hotel. The gigai trembles and breaks when she touches the ground. It's quite a feeling watching your fake-skin crack and shatter on the white pavement as it reveals your real-skin and black uniform.

She drifts back into the life she had before, no longer hearing his voice creep into her head. Back to missions, back to paperwork, back to napping on the couch, back to drinking games with her buddies, back to planning vacations with the girls. She's back, smiling, without that persistent shadow of numbness on her face.

They recognize it and embrace her in. They talk of what she's missed, what rumours and gossip and the usual conversation that drifts in Soul Society. They welcome her with open arms and feel the relief at her bubbly laugh and infectious smile. Matsumoto Rangiku is back.

* * *

She doesn't feel heartbreak. This love was not one of those you saw or read about where the hero and heroine could not bear to breathe without each other by their side. This love was a waiting love. She would wait for him, however long it took, just as he waited for her. This love is not dead yet. It's still here, just waiting for the right moment to overwhelm her again and let her drown in the happiness.

She can't predict the future but she has a feeling.

A hundred years from now, there will be some new Academy student, hailed as a genius by his classmates, and he will be a boy ready to grow, with memories that are futile to try and remember.

He will have pure white-silver hair coupled with a seductive smile (_a serpent's smile, she will deem afterwards_), and in his spider-fingers will be held a persimmon. And when his eyes open and the red takes over her senses, he will say something like, "long time no see, ne, Ran-chan?" And the wind will bring the smell of chrysanthemums all through the world.

* * *

(_I wanted to be held longer by ya. Ran-chan, (a bittersweet smile) I'm sorry._)

* * *

**a/n: **asdfjkl; it's finally over! this took over my life! it also helps that armand amar's horribly depressing yet whimsical and very, very beautiful music helped the angst sort of mellow out into something more, uh, readable? I screwed with her memories and I've never eaten a persimmon so I don't know what the hell their juice looks like or whatever. It's all make-believe bullshit. But I hoped you enjoyed it. I did, sadly enough. It was a beautiful journey. Hopefully, human Gin wasn't horrible. Gin is one hard bastard to write, Especially with that damned accent of his!

A review would be fabulous, I would love to hear your guys' thoughts.

**edit:** august 3, 2010. fixed typos, inserted breaks. please feel free to point out any errors i missed.


End file.
